As If I Care

The finality with which I left had nothing to do with anger.  If I had been pissed off, I would have told Panther a thing or two.  Tears would have been shed.  The door slammed.

The thing about being angry is that it’s a sign you care.  And the moment I decided to pack up my dog and slip out of his house, I understood two things:  There would be no going back and I certainly didn’t care.

Panther’s invitation for me to come over seemed sweet.  He called instead of text and genuinely seemed to want to see me.  It took me some time to get there, and in the process I got lost and forgot to swing by the liquor store.  I didn’t really think anything of it, but Panther really wanted a beer and he had no intention of paying.

By the time we settled in to his basement apartment out in the country, I found it difficult to get comfortable.  He’s such a cheap fuck, I hate it that I always have to pay.  Where the hell is he?  Why invite me over if he’s going to hang out in his room all by himself?  Here he comes, maybe now we can finally enjoy each other’s company on the sofa with a movie playing. . . .

I had my eyes closed and opened them to find Panther standing there with his fly open and his big, black cock dangling in my face.  Now, if we had gotten off on the right foot instead of the wrong one OR Panther had done some obligatory chatting/cuddling on the couch OR if he had paid for at least half of the beer—I might have welcomed his attempt at fucking my face.  As it was, I was already feeling used, so I pushed him away.

Silently he we back to his room.

If I had more self-respect, this would have been a great time to make my dramatic exit.  Dignity firmly intact, I could have walked out the door never to see him again.  And, yes, I eventually got to that point, but it was not before I tried having a conversation/seducing Panther to no avail.

I ambled back to his room, asked him if he was coming back out and he basically grunted his response without turning around to face me.

ME:  I thought you wanted to watch a movie.

PANTHER:  Grunt.

ME:  Come over here on the bed then . . . .

PANTHER:  Nobody sleeps on that bed except me and my son.

Rather than wake up this morning feeling smug AND relieved AND self-righteous AND proud of myself for leaving a situation where I was being treated disrespectfully—I realize this morning that Panther thinks I left because he rejected me.

If I cared one iota about what he thought, THAT would definitely make me mad.


  1. […] in my life. Most of these men are no longer in the picture—Memphis Blues, Crocodile, Camelback, Panther—but I do still see Salt-N-Pepper. (I wouldn’t be too surprised if that changes soon, […]

  2. […] Black men and a face for young studs. Let me explain. I’m curvy. Many of the African American men I’ve been with tell me that I’m “thick” and that they LOVE that. Personally, I hate the term. The good news […]

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